Meta

It’s been a rough week. I’ll try to keep this tasteful but I’m feeling ganged up on.

The Tennessee Walker mare my hubby adopted is a brazen hussy. Lately she nickers sweet nothings, backed up to the fence with her tail flagged to the side while looking coyly over her shoulder. My neighbor’s Thoroughbred stud has been prancing up and down the fence across the road with everything hanging out, snorting and whinnying the horsey equivalent of “Hey, Baby. Back Up To Daddy One Time”. Between the two of them it’s downright embarrassing.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, one of the dogs decided to star in her own version of the Dating Game. A chorus of males have been ‘singing’ their devotion outside in my yard every night for a week now. And there’s nothing I can do but wait it out.

My latest problem child’s name is Dixie, she weighs about sixty pounds, with a hysterical personality. How hysterical? Imagine the spirit of a hyperactive Jack Russell Terrier with ADD trapped inside a Golden Lab’s body–trying to get out. Constantly. Top it off with a tongue that can swipe your face at fifty paces. And she sneak-attacks with the thing if you don’t stay on constant guard. She’s actually my youngest son’s dog. He changed residences in New Orleans and asked if I’d keep her a few weeks until he settled in. That was, um, let’s see . . . oh, about one hundred seventeen weeks ago. But he still claims her.

On occasions when Dixie lavishes affection on someone else (and I’m not wiping dog slobber out of my eyes), I’m tempted to film it and forward it to Animal Planet. It’s freakishly like watching a giant, deadly accurate, furry Amazon tree frog snap it’s three-foot tongue out to nab a fly. One day I’m going to pry her mouth open and see if that thing rolls up in there or what. Inside to keep her away from boys of bad influence, she follows me everywhere in the house and nothing stays on a table. And it’s not just her tail. She suffers from canine kleptomania. She just grabs whatever catches her eye while walking by. I find them later in the oddest places. It’s easier that way. Basic mathematics. She has four feet; I only have two. I haven’t won a race yet, and having to dodge that tongue gives her an unfair advantage.

Pancho, another neighbor’s big black dog, visits my yard as a bi-annual camper of pheremonal persuasion. He’s figured out I know how to use hubby’s hickory walking staff as more than a prop, so he keeps his distance but remains ever hopeful my vigilance will fail. Several smaller dogs try their luck when I take her out on the lead, so every walk is an adventure.

We’ve done well with one exception. This little wiry brown dog just won’t give up no matter how much I yell or swat at him. Think frustration got the better of him yesterday. I was holding off a big dog with the staff when he took his chance. I tried to push him out of the way with my foot. Won’t make that mistake again. Don’t recommend attempting stick fighting maneuvers to hold off a pack of horny dogs–while yours takes her sweet time tinkling–with a small dog attached to your leg, humping like the energizer bunny. Wrecks the balance.

When this all began a big white shepherd fellow showed up. And stayed. We already had Pancho as a semi-permanent guest, so I started calling him Lefty as a joke. I’m up all hours of the night, but try not to turn lights on so I don’t wake anyone. My excuse for my lack of usual control is I’m dog tired–no pun intended–from all the howling keeping me awake. Was half asleep passing the back door in the dark when I glanced up. Straight into a pair of man-high eyes. Scared me so bad I started screeching.

Heard hubby bounce off walls the whole way down the hall, and yelp when he crammed his toes into something solid. He didn’t start cursing until he stepped on the deaf cat (she always get caught in people traffic; can’t hear them coming to get out of the way) and she started screeching harmony to my racket. Turns out it was Lefty standing on his back legs to see in. He’s been hanging out at the glass for so long now that a burglar could probably waltz in and knock me in the head before I realized he was inside.

But the kicker in this entire situation is the doorknob. If any one else has had this happen, I’d really like to know. Seems old Lefty was determined to get in. He went so far as to try to gnaw the knob off. Took pictures because I had a hard time believing it myself.

I finally admitted defeat today and dug out the ear plugs for the shooting range in self-defense. So when I get back from the hardware store with the new knob I can take a nap. I’m that tired. Or maybe I won’t. If Dixie sneaks up on me I might drown.

Related

11 Responses

This was hilarious! But don’t complain too much, cause things could definitely be worse – and I thought they were. When I saw the title, I said, “OMG, fertility gods! We’re gonna have another little Runere running around here? ” And if there is one snarky tee-shirt saying I live by, it is : “I’d rather be 50 than pregnant.” Ya had me scared there for a few.

Another excellent example of how you always take the everyday things from your life and make them into interesting, fun stories. Runere’s Got Talent!

Thanks, Ro’mama, and Amen to the tee shirt! But, bleh! Don’t put “Runere” and “pregnant” even in the same thought! Too scary!

Most of what I do is just vent. Y’all didn’t know you’re my shrinks? lol And I like your gentle idea of relaxing meds better, too–Pinot Grigio! Does that come in a 55 gallon drum? Think that might be my dosage.

laughing hysterically over here. Your descriptions are priceless. I feel I’m right there in the action. seeing you balancing yourself w/a tiny dog on your leg is just the picture to get my day off to a fun start! And the tongue story is too much- I have been around dogs like that but not quite any with a tongue that big- could you use it as a slide? LOL!

Thanks for making my day! You have to love through the craziness to keep me entertained- it’s your calling!

Damn,, Runere. First sentence, I thought you were talking about hubby. Then, I read on. It was like a ghost from the past when my Tripoli, a young pup, met his first, a much older bitch. He kinda figured things out but got stuck. The bitch paid no attention to him, just kind of dragged him around the yard until I brought out some hamburger laced with bourbon. It didn’t take long for her to pass out and turn loose of my dog. Tripoli made a trip to the vet the next week. He was miffed for weeks. RitaVF